


A Movement in 221 Pieces

by genetic_design



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Angst, Bored Sherlock, Drabbles, Hand Jobs, John just wants him to stop talking, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Reichenbach, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-04-11 03:33:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4419560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genetic_design/pseuds/genetic_design
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>The argument starts in much the same way as it always does: Sherlock's irritable listlessness testing John's patience.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A collection of 221 drabbles, each one ending in a word that starts with the letter B.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Boredom

The argument starts in much the same way as it always does: Sherlock's irritable listlessness testing John's patience.

A request — demand — for tea grates on John's nerves. His waspish reply of "You have legs, don't you?" causes the detective to spew vitriol about his distinct lack of usefulness, and before John can process the cutting remarks, Sherlock begins bemoaning an absence of intellectual stimulation.

Marching over to him, John grabs his shoulders — to shake him, or maybe throttle him, _anything_ to shut him up — but somehow, Sherlock's mouth meets his instead, kissing him so fiercely he can't breathe.

Moments later (perhaps eons, no way to tell for certain) John shoves Sherlock onto the couch, yanking the taller man's shirt over his head, dressing gown and trousers lost somewhere between the kitchen and the living room.

Fingertips ghost up his spine, tremors following in their wake as he wraps a hand around Sherlock's cock, starts to work his fist in jerking, barely controlled movements. Sherlock's head falls back, revealing the pale curve of his throat. John leans down to drag his teeth across the exposed skin, relishing the almost broken moans he feels rumbling against his lips.

As he watches Sherlock come undone in sharp, panting gasps beneath him, John realises he might have finally found a solution for Sherlock's incurable boredom.


	2. Before

Some mornings, John still makes two cups of tea instead of one. He even goes so far as to pull out the sugar before he remembers why he should not.

With trembling fingers, he pours the extra cup down the drain, leans against the counter and scrubs a hand over his face. For a moment, he imagines what Sherlock might say about the act of continuing to prepare tea for a dead flatmate — _sentiment, illogical_.

Fighting back a wave of memories that threaten to overtake him, he changes out of his dressing gown and leaves for work.

**♪ ♪ ♪**

Some mornings, John sits at the kitchen table — free of its usual clutter of test tubes and microscopes — sifting through comments on his blog. Searching for a hint of something strange, something fantastic and inexplicable, before he remembers why he should not.

_No point in my leaving the flat for anything less than a seven._

Buying himself in the newspaper, he finishes his breakfast in overwhelming silence.

**♪ ♪ ♪**

Some mornings — the hardest ones of all — John wakes to discordant violin notes sweeping through the room, echoes of arpeggios that thrum along to the too-rapid beat of his heart.

_How do you feel about the violin?_

On these mornings, John resolutely walks past the kitchen, sinks down into his armchair, and allows himself to remember before.

**Author's Note:**

> Come follow me on [tumblr](http://the-caitastrophe.tumblr.com); we can talk about silly, oblivious, made for each other boys.


End file.
